The Dread Lord of Essos

Chapter 88

Harry sat at his massive desk in the private study overlooking the city. He had taken the entire topmost floor for himself. It was a luxurious space with ceilings as high as a cathedral and windows that faced the sea in one direction and the marbled sprawl of Seven Swords in the other. Most days, he preferred the view of his own city to the endless horizon. He liked to see what was going on. Today was no exception. The office glowed with diffuse sunlight filtered through cream-colored curtains, and every surface was polished until it gleamed. The desk was covered with reports, letters, and shipping manifests. At the edge, a half-eaten honeycake sat beside a cup of cooling black tea. Harry pointed his finger at it, and the tea instantly became hot again. He took a sip and sighed happily.

Harry had his boots up, a pen in one hand, and a sour scowl on his face as he flipped through another tedious inventory ledger. Paperwork was the bane of his existence. While he loved his city, running it took more of his time than any battle or conquest ever had. There were always more reports, more shortages that needed to be fixed, and more little dramas to solve. The merchants in this city loved to bicker. He sipped his tea again and set the cup back down on its saucer.

A gentle rap sounded on the door, and he barely glanced up. “Come in,” he called out, expecting Missandei with more paperwork, or perhaps Kinvara, who enjoyed pestering him at the most inconvenient times. At least Kinvara would end her pestering by dropping to her knees, sucking him off, and letting him finish in her mouth. It was the kind of pestering he looked forward to.

This time, it was neither. Instead, Margaery Tyrell floated through the door on bare feet, though a pair of green strappy heels dangled from her fingers. For a split second, Harry didn’t recognize her. She had changed so much since her arrival. The pale, polite Westerosi rose had been replaced by something bolder and much less modest.

The woman standing before him was the definition of a temptress. The dress she wore was a deep green silk so thin that he could see her skin through it. There were no sleeves, and her arms were perfectly bare. The neckline plunged in a V all the way down, slicing past the gentle slope of her breasts, through her cleavage, and deep below her navel. A single emerald clasp at her midriff held the whole thing together, though just barely. The inside curves of her perky tits and the upper swell of her mound were on proud display. The skirt of the dress was so small and insubstantial that it hung around her exposed hips like a loincloth, parting with every step and making it impossible not to imagine what she wasn’t wearing beneath.

Her thick, chestnut hair cascaded over one bare shoulder, and her lips were painted just a touch darker than their usual pink. The only jewelry she wore was two tiny gold rings in her ears. Margaery smiled at Harry with the confidence of a woman who knew she was worth a king’s ransom, and she was obviously here to collect.

Harry set down his pen and tried to look annoyed, but the effect was ruined by the way his eyes lingered on her cleavage and the inch of bare mound revealed with each step. “I see the tailor didn’t skimp on fabric,” he teased.

Margaery sashayed forward, and every movement was slow and feminine. There was a predatory hunger under the surface of her gaze that Harry had grown to appreciate. “If you dislike it, I could take it off,” she suggested in a sweet and teasing tone. She placed the green heels on the corner of his desk and leaned forward with her arms folded beneath her chest to squeeze her tits together and make the most of the neckline. She was close enough that Harry could smell her perfume. Her skin smelled of orange blossoms. It was a favorite scent among the women of his city.

He let his eyes drop to the neckline and then slowly dragged it back up to her face. “You’re going to cause a riot if you wear that outside the palace,” he said.

“You’ll be there to protect me.” She perched herself on the edge of his desk and crossed her legs, but the action only spread the dress apart, exposing the inner curves of her thighs. They were as smooth as freshly churned cream. She watched him checking out her body, then cocked her head to the side. “If you did not want me seen in public like this, you shouldn’t have bought me such lovely dresses.”

He was about to tease her back, but she cut him off by grabbing him by the collar and yanking him forward. She kissed him, slow and unhurried, tasting the lingering honey on his lips. Her tongue darted between his teeth and teased, then retreated, leaving him wanting more. When she broke the kiss, she left her lips an inch from his, and Harry could feel the heat from her skin.

“I came to thank you for the gifts,” she sexily teased with shining eyes. “No one’s ever dressed me so well, or in so little.”

“Highgarden does tend to lean more on the prudish side,” Harry joked, nuzzling her jaw with his stubbled cheek. He slid his hands to her waist and felt the soft give of her skin beneath the silk. “Or maybe you’ve been saving it all for me.”

She ran her fingers through his hair, then leaned back, arching her spine to erotically present herself to him. Her breasts bounced with the motion and nearly escaped the fabric. “I saved nothing,” she said. “I’m greedy. I want to show off, and I want to do it on your arm.”

He grinned, and for the first time in days, he felt the tension in his neck and shoulders start to melt. There were so many things that needed to be done before the grand opening. On a whim, Harry had decided to throw a massive Tourney to celebrate the occasion. Seeing how much extra work needed to be done, he was now regretting his impulsiveness. “What’s the occasion?”

She kissed his nose. “I want to go to the King’s Garden,” she said. “With you. I’ve heard rumors that the shops are stocking such beautiful things in preparation for the upcoming event, and I need necklaces to match all these indecent dresses.” She wiggled her chest for effect, making her tits almost spill out of the silk.

He was tempted to take her right then and there, but she had a point. Many lords and ladies of Westeros were already in the city, and Margaery would set every tongue wagging if she showed up in the King’s Garden in this dress.

He let his hands slip down to her thighs and caressed her delicate skin. Margaery shuddered, and Harry teased her further by kissing her upper thigh. “You wish to make the ladies of Westeros jealous, don’t you?”

Margaery’s sweet mouth curled in a mischievous smile. “I want them all to see what you gave me.”

He squeezed her thighs. She shivered, and the action caused her breasts to jiggle merrily. “I’ll escort you, then,” he said. “But I can’t promise the shopkeepers will be looking at the necklaces when you walk in.”

She hopped off the desk and pressed her body to his. Her hand slid down, and she stroked the inside of his thigh until she found what she wanted. She gave him a playful squeeze. “Then you’ll just have to keep their eyes off me, won’t you?” Harry couldn’t help but chuckle.

He let her guide him to his feet. The top of her head didn’t even reach his shoulders, but she matched his energy perfectly. She kissed him again, and then spun away with a little toss of her hair. She stepped into her shoes, strapped them on, and waited for him at the door.

He let his eyes wander over her from head to heel, then shook his head in disbelief. He’d ruled cities, conquered kingdoms, and ridden dragons, but there was nothing in the world more dangerous than a woman in a scandalously small dress. He straightened his own clothes, squared his shoulders, and followed her out.

The Dread Lord of Essos

Cersei entered King’s Garden with the measured stride of a queen returning to her throne. Every shopkeeper on the avenue recognized her immediately. The door to the jeweler’s was thrown open before she even reached it, and the manager scuttled out, bowing so low his nose nearly brushed the marble tiles. Cersei swept past him without a word. Her golden hair shone dazzlingly in the late morning light. She wore a gown of ivory silk so thin and close-cut that it seemed poured over her every luscious curve. The skirt was slit to her thigh on one side, and the neckline plunged well past the swell of her breasts, exposing a broad expanse of flawless porcelain skin and the hint of pink areola. She had chosen this look deliberately, for there was no greater insult to the pale, flabby Westerosi ladies than to remind them that age had not dulled her beauty or her appetite for conquest.

The shop was as much a stage as a place of business. The other patrons, who were mainly the wives of wealthy merchants, local nobility, and even a pair of newly arrived Courtesans, stared openly as Cersei entered. She made sure to meet every gaze with a brief flicker of her emerald green eyes. It was never long enough to be an outright challenge, but always long enough to gloat. The younger women watched her with envy and fear, the older ones with open hatred. They knew the power she wielded, and they hated her for it. Cersei basked in it.

The jeweler, who she believed was named Dorys or something equally common, sprinted from behind his counter, dragging a velvet tray heaped with pearls and precious stones. “Lady Cersei,” he gasped. “We have been expecting you. Please, our finest pieces … only the latest from Braavos ...”

She cut him off with a single, raised hand. “I want to see the new emeralds. The ones from the Summer Isles.”

“Of course,” he blurted, and snapped at an apprentice to fetch the case. The boy tripped, nearly dropped it, and went pale as a dead fish. Cersei accepted the incident with a bored click of her tongue. She let her eyes wander around the room, cataloging the present company.

It was not long before she heard it. It was a wave of low whispers, swelling from outside the shop. It was the sound of men and women pressing closer together, and the breathless, hissing laughter of those seeing something deliciously scandalous for the first time. Cersei did not need to turn around to know what it was. She had been warned by more than one of her spies that Margaery Tyrell was planning on visiting King’s Garden today. She did not expect the little slut to be paraded on Harold’s arm the moment she arrived. But that was exactly what was happening now.

Cersei did not move. Instead, she set her jaw and kept her gaze on the display of jewels and waited.

Margaery and Harold entered the shop not as a couple, but as a conquering king and his prize. Margaery wore a shade of green so deep it nearly glowed, and the cut of the dress made a mockery of the old rules of modesty. Cersei knew the design instantly. It was sleeveless with the V-shaped neckline plunging past the navel. The shortness of the skirt would make a whore blush. This irritated Cersei to no end. She was the one who had made such a dress design fashionable, and now some Westerosi slut was getting all the credit. She also saw the way Harold’s hand hovered possessively on Margaery’s lower back, just above the curve of her ass. The girl’s tits were so high and perfect that Cersei momentarily wondered if they were the result of sorcery. No one’s tits should be that perfect.

The shop fell silent as Margaery and Harold approached. The jeweler nearly fainted. He was so anxious to please the Dread Lord that he fumbled with two cases before setting them on the glass. He didn’t even bother to address Cersei again. His entire existence now revolved around Harold’s pleasure and, by extension, Margaery’s.

Cersei was forced to watch as the Whore of Highgarden was shown the most expensive necklaces and the rarest gems. She watched as Margaery draped a heavy diamond collar around her neck, pouted at her reflection, and asked Harold if it made her look “too much like a Queen.” She watched as Harold bent close to the girl and whispered something that made her giggle and blush like a maiden. The crowd of women behind them stared, unable to look away.

It was the most humiliating moment Cersei had endured since leaving Westeros. She felt the heat rise in her cheeks, and she had to ball her fists to keep from shaking. But she said nothing. Instead, she fixed her eyes on a tray of rubies and forced herself to focus.

The jeweler tried to divide his attention, but every time Cersei so much as glanced in his direction, he cringed and bowed, then scurried to serve Harold and Margaery. The other women in the shop stopped pretending to shop. Instead, they watched the two of them with their faces pinched with either envy or lust. One girl in particular … a merchant’s daughter with a taste for blue dye and painted lips, actually tripped over her own feet to get a closer look. She did not even bother to hide her interest in Harold.

Margaery, for her part, seemed to enjoy the spectacle. She threw a wink at Cersei, as if inviting her into some private joke. Cersei ignored her, but the message was clear. Margaery was the new queen of the city, and every eye would be drawn to her, not Cersei. It was an insult that cut her deep.

Cersei held her tongue. She would not start a scene here, not in front of so many witnesses. The moment would pass, and Harold’s attention would eventually drift, as it always did. Margaery would get what she wanted, but the high would not last. And when it faded, Cersei would be there to remind her of what it was to lose.

She made her selection. It was a beautiful, tight choker of emeralds and black pearls, and she signaled for the purchase with a flick of her hand. The jeweler almost missed it. He was so enraptured by Margaery’s smile that he seemed to ignore everything else, but Cersei’s glare cut through the haze. He snapped to it, wrapped the piece in silk, and presented it to her with a look that bordered on terror. “Thank you, Lady Cersei,” he managed through a shaking voice.

She accepted the box with a sharp nod. As she left, she deliberately brushed against Harold, trailing her hand along his sleeve as if by accident. He gave her a little smirk, and his palm lightly caressed her ass. At least that made her feel a little better.

Out on the avenue, Cersei composed herself. She adjusted her dress and breathed in the cool, clean air. The anger had not faded, but it was tucked neatly away behind her perfect smile. She walked the length of the garden in slow, even steps as her mind already turned to revenge.

She would remember this. She would remember every word, every glance, and every humiliation. And one day, she would see the Whore of Highgarden brought low, and all the city would watch as the crown returned to its true owner. But for now, she must bide her time. She would suffer the presence of the whore, but when the moment came, she would be ready.

The Dread Lord of Essos

Margaery Tyrell had been courted by the most powerful men in Westeros, envied by queens, and gossiped about in every castle hall from the Arbor to the Eyrie, but nothing compared to being the main attraction in Seven Swords.

The air itself was delicious to breathe. It was warm, dry, and perfumed with flowers so sweet and exotic that she could not name half of them. Every breeze carried a new note. At the moment, she could smell almond blossom, myrrh, spiced wine, and something sharp and sweet she’d never smelled before. The streets were swept daily, and the white marble shone with an almost supernatural luster. All along the avenue, the terraces were crowded with fruit trees, and the streets overflowed with potted flowers in every shade. The stone walkways were smooth and never muddy, and there was not a slum or beggar anywhere in sight. Even the alleyways were clean, and Margaery could not see a single starving child, broken cart, or pile of rubbish. It was as if the city had been built solely to impress her.

Everywhere she and Harold went, the eyes followed them. The first time a merchant’s wife tripped over her own feet to gape at Margaery’s cleavage, she nearly giggled aloud. Instead, she straightened her back and let the dress do its work. The effect was instant. Men openly stared, women blushed or glared, and the shopkeepers fell over themselves to flatter her.

The first shop on their route was a jeweler’s with window displays so overloaded with gold and sapphire that they seemed to glow in the sunlight. The doorman recognized Harold immediately, but his jaw almost hit the ground when he caught sight of Margaery. He bowed so low that she thought his forehead might touch the step.

Inside, the staff all but abandoned the other customers. Two girls in matching silk dresses hovered nearby, and their mouths opened as they took in the dress, the heels, and the swanlike arch of Margaery’s neck. “She is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,” one whispered in Myrish, not knowing Margaery understood. “Is that King Harold’s newest paramour?” the other replied with wide eyes.

Margaery’s lips twitched. She slightly bent at the waist. It was just enough to make her breasts quiver above the counter, and she smiled at the shopkeeper. “My lover has a passion for emeralds,” she said. Her voice was as breathy and honey-sweet as she could make it. “But I think my skin is more suited to gold. Don’t you?” Beside her, she heard Harold chuckle. He always seemed to enjoy her antics.

The shopkeeper stammered and bobbed his head. “Gold, of course, my lady. Only the purest. We have a new line from Northern Yi Ti, if you wish to see …”

“I do.” She leaned even closer, and the poor man almost fainted.

Harry smirked behind her, then slid an arm around her waist. His hand rested lightly on her bare hip, and he squeezed just hard enough for her to feel it. She liked the way he was with her in public. He was proud, possessive, and always a little wicked. She pressed her tits against his arm and let her hand fall over his. She threaded their fingers together.

Margaery looked at a dozen necklaces, bracelets, and even a pair of thin golden chains that attached to the nipples, which made Margaery laugh. She caught Harry’s eye in the mirror as she toyed with one of them. “Should we?” she asked.

“Only if you want to,” he chuckled. His tone was so suggestive that the attendant nearly dropped the necklace he was holding.

Margaery let the nipple rings dangle, just for the effect. She imagined how the court would react if she wore them to supper, and the thought made her giddy. She selected three necklaces and a gold anklet, then asked the shopkeeper to box them up in the finest silk. The man promised to have them delivered to the castle by sundown, and bowed again and again as she left.

The next stop was a perfumery. The glass jars behind the counter caught the sunlight and refracted it into a thousand rainbows. The mistress of the shop was a severe woman with black hair, and the sharpest cheekbones Margaery had ever seen. She took one look at her, then gestured her to the back room for “the private selection.” Harold followed, and Margaery noticed the other shoppers’ jealous glares as they disappeared behind the velvet curtain.

The back room was filled with narrow flacons, tiny vials, and a row of open bowls brimming with dried petals and powders. The mistress asked a single question. “Are you seeking to seduce, to impress, or to conquer?”

Margaery smiled. “Why choose?”

The woman poured a drop of something onto Margaery’s wrist. It was the color of amber, and it shimmered in the light. The scent hit her a moment later. It was a heady blend of red wine, honey, and an undercurrent of citrus so sharp it made her dizzy. The mistress told her that only a single drop should be used. Otherwise, the scent would be overpowering.

Margaery bought it, naturally. She also bought “Summer Fyre,” “Blackwater Silk,” and a tiny bottle called “Submission,” which the mistress winked and said was best worn between the legs. Margaery was already planning to test that out tonight when she joined Harold in bed.

Harold did not stop her, nor did he bat an eye at the final total, which was more than the annual income of some minor Westerosi lords. He seemed to enjoy the spectacle as much as she did.

Their next stop was another jewelry shop, and this time she spotted Cersei Lannister shopping. Oh, how Margaery loved the look of disgust in Cersei’s eyes. She could practically feel the older woman’s rage. Margaery fueled the fire by being extra flirty with Harold, and when Cersei finally left in a huff, Margaery giggled softly into Harold’s chest. They continued hopping from shop to shop, buying anything that caught her fancy.

As they moved down the avenue, Margaery noticed that every woman they passed looked at her with a kind of frantic, silent calculation. How does she look so perfect? Is that really her waist? How are her tits being held up? Is she wearing underclothes? What would I look like in that dress? Some glared with hatred, and others with hopeless longing. It was all delicious.

The men were less subtle. Some followed her with their eyes until they walked into pillars or tripped over the feet of their wives. A handsome merchant actually dropped his stack of ledgers when she walked by, then laughed it off, waving at her as if she were an old friend.

Margaery hugged Harold’s arm tighter and pressed her breasts into him with every step. He seemed amused, and he occasionally stopped to whisper praises into her ear. “You’re the most beautiful woman in the city,” he said at one point, and she could feel his warm breath on her skin. She felt her cheeks flush at the words, but she didn’t shy away from the attention. Instead, she threw her shoulders back and walked even more boldly, daring anyone to look away.

They passed through the King’s Garden, where the cream of Westerosi and Essosi nobility lounged among the colonnades. A few of the women here wore bold colors and high fashion, but none could match the effortless decadence of Margaery’s dress or the confidence in her stride. Some tried to outdo her by draping themselves on cushions or whispering to one another, but it was clear who had won the day.

The old cow Cersei was there, of course, holding court with a clutch of nervous socialites. She saw Margaery and Harold together and looked as though she had been slapped. Margaery saw the woman’s jaw tighten, and she offered a little wave and a radiant smile. Harold chuckled, and Cersei went pale with rage.

It was perfect. Margaery savored the moment like a long-awaited sweet. She watched as the news of her arrival rippled down the length of the avenue. She watched the expressions change into envy, jealousy, and the desperate desire to be her, or to have her. She relished every second of it.

As the day wore on, Margaery lost herself in the pleasures of shopping, gossip, and Harold’s easy charm. They sampled rare cheeses from the market, tasted candied orange peels, and sipped wine in a shaded portico. Everywhere they went, people stopped what they were doing to stare at them. For the first time in her life, Margaery felt not just beautiful, but invincible.

At the end of the afternoon, as the sun slanted low and painted the city gold, she and Harold paused at the edge of a fountain. The water sparkled, and the breeze sent the spray over her bare arms. She leaned into him, letting her body melt against his side, and closed her eyes.

“I never want to leave,” she murmured tiredly.

Harry kissed her temple and stroked her hip. His hand was warm, strong, and familiar. “You never have to,” he said. “You can stay as long as you desire,” he assured her.

She opened her eyes and looked at the beautiful, perfect kingdom laid out before her. She believed him. She smiled and pressed herself even closer, hungry for more.